


Pull

by falter



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 06:20:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falter/pseuds/falter
Summary: College is a hell of a lot easier with a steady supply of decent coffee. Too bad that's not what Frank's getting.





	Pull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venomwolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomwolves/gifts).



The first time Frank goes into the coffeeshop is the first time he notices it. He's cut things too close again, stayed in bed too long again, and he's going to be late for his psych seminar. Again. But it's fucking cold already, even for November, and his heavy winter coat is still back at home, and it had been blissfully warm under the covers. 

Living near campus and sharing a house with friends was great in a lot of ways. Somebody always had pot to share when Frank's supply ran out, and usually there was beer, and he could come back to the house if he needed to crash between classes, and being out from under his mom's rules still hadn't lost its shine. But it was also a fucking sty, and Frank had given up on even splashing disinfectant around the bathroom when he'd realized he was the only guy in the house who would. And it was cold, all the fucking time, even if they cranked up the thermostat. Which they didn't anymore once they got the heating bill at the end of October.

So getting out of bed is a struggle, and by the time he manages it, he's running late enough that he risks a shortcut. He ducks down an alley that takes him in the right direction and has to jump a fence, but he's cut at least five minutes off his walk and wound up closer to the Psych building than usual. Victory. 

The coffee shop is a sweet and unexpected bonus, so the decision to go in is almost automatic. 

Frank's digging in his pockets and trying to figure out how much cash he has on him, so he doesn't look around until he's at the counter. The place looks fairly new, but this must be the end of a rush because it's kind of a wreck. Warm, though, and there are a couple of guys who look like they might be homeless in the corner surrounded by their stuff, which seems like a good sign for this not being the kind of place run by assholes. There's the usual menu of drinks on the wall, and Frank notices that they have soy milk for no extra charge, which is also a good sign. Not that he has time for anything fancy. 

The girl behind the counter is very carefully pouring steamed milk into a cup for the woman who was in front of Frank in line, almost hunched over it until she looks up at Frank and he realizes it's actually a guy. A really pretty guy. 

The guy says, "I'll be right with you," and Frank says, "No worries," and the guy hunches back over the cup where he's now managed to spill hot milk on the counter. He says, "Whoops!" with a little bit of a giggle and shrugs and spills more when he sets the coffee where the woman can reach it. This guy is a fucking disaster. 

Frank orders a large black coffee to go and watches the slow dripping of the milk onto the floor while the guy fumbles him a cup and fills it so close to the brim that Frank needs to slurp some off the top before he picks it up. When he looks up from the surface of the -- fuck, really strong and a little burnt-tasting -- coffee, the guy is staring at him. He's got really big eyes, like not buggy or anything, but kind of like an anime character, or one of those Precious Moments things, and his lashes are dark. When Frank catches him staring the guy looks away, and smiles a little, and shit this is terrible coffee but Frank knows he's going to be back.

***

He feels a little weird about it, but he heads back to the same coffee shop once he's done with his French conversation block. He's not sure why he feels weird, he's gone to plenty of campus coffee shops twice a day, lots of people do. Maybe he's hungry, whatever. Come to think of it, he is kind of hungry. And a place that doesn't charge for soy probably has something vegan. It's totally a logical stop to make on his new very logical walk home.

The place is called _Elixer_ , which is kind of a shitty name for a coffee shop, Frank thinks. Also it might be misspelled, he's not sure. It gives him something to think about as he walks in and drops his bag on a chair at one of the little tables. There are no other customers in the place, and he tries to take his time and act casual and not immediately check behind the counter for the hot barista. 

He maybe didn't need to worry, though, because the dude is there, but he doesn't look up from where he's leaning on the counter on the other side of the pastry case from the register. Frank waits for the dude to notice him. He's drawing something, Frank's pretty sure, turning his head a little occasionally like he's trying to get a different perspective on the paper in front of him, and he's got a pen sticking out from between his knuckles in the same hand as the pencil he's drawing with. He's chewing on his tongue, which should be much more off-putting, Frank thinks, but the dude's tongue is pink and he's kind of moving it around meditatively and it's actually kind of hard to look away from. At least it is until Frank realizes that he really doesn't want to get caught staring at some guy's tongue when he doesn't even know his name yet. That seems like a creeper thing to do, so he pulls his wallet out instead and looks studiously up at the menu while he drops the wallet on the counter. He manages to make enough noise to provoke a half-swallowed squeak of surprise from the dude. Frank waits until the guy is in front of him to look down again. 

Shit. "Um."

The guy smiles at him, encouraging. He has the weirdest little square teeth, and a little pointy nose, and his jaw is kind of crooked, and his hair is a sort of unevenly dyed black, brown at the roots and tangled long enough to start curling below his ears. Frank's not sure how those parts add up to pretty, but the world is full of inexplicable shit, so he decides he can think more about that later, because the guy's smile is doing something, going a little soft and warm. Shit. 

Frank shakes himself -- without actually shaking himself, that would look weird -- he sort of gives himself a shake internally and smiles back a little and starts again. "Um. Yeah, a...can you make a large latte with soy?" 

The guy looks down and bites his lip and then up and sort of past Frank and rubs a little at his eye with the fingers of one hand -- he's not holding the pencil and pen anymore but he _is_ holding a grease pencil and manages to leave a dark streak on his cheekbone with it. "I think? I mean," the guy says, "yeah, I can make that. But I kind of want a mocha, do you want a mocha instead? Like, we just got this new chocolate syrup in the other day and I made one yesterday with that in it and some hazelnut stuff and four shots and, fuck, it was good. I can do that with soy?"

Frank is pretty determined not to say 'um' again, so he checks his cash. Mocha and extra flavor and an extra shot is kind of more than he was planning on. Fuck. "Yeah, okay. Sounds..." Kind of gross, actually, but whatever, Frank's no coward. "Sounds good. And," he leans away a little to look into the pastry case, "are any of the muffins vegan?"

When he looks back, the guy is twisting his fingers in his hair and frowning a little. "I think just the bran one? You want one?" 

Frank's pretty sure he needs some kind of solid food. "Yeah."

The guy takes a while to find a little plate and he makes a production out of picking up one of the muffins using two little sheets of paper and setting it off-center on the plate. Frank pays and drops the remains of his cash -- the quarters he was going to use for laundry -- into the tip jar. The guy is wearing chipped black nail polish, and his nails look like he bites them, and when he pushes the muffin across the counter the plate is smeared a little with grease pencil, too. Can you even wear nail polish if you handle food? Isn't that illegal or something? 

Frank picks up the plate and the guy says, "I'll bring your drink! To you, I mean. Like, go ahead and sit down?" 

Frank's "Okay," comes out automatically, but the guy is already turned away and arranging cups and bottles in front of the big espresso machine. 

***

He sets down his plate at a table, then takes off his coat and hangs it over the back of the chair where he left his bag. The table is, well, objectively kind of gross. The guy is working by himself so probably he hasn't had time to wipe it, but there are overlapping layers of spilled and dried coffee as well as something that looks like croissant crumbs, something shiny and sticky looking that Frank hopes was juice, and a scattering over the entire surface that's either sugar or salt. He could ask for a towel, but the guy is frowning and busy making Frank's drink. That's fine, he's got this.

The bathroom is actually a little cleaner than Frank expects, so he washes his hands since he's going to be eating a muffin with them and builds a little stack of paper toweling that he soaks in hot water, and grabs some dry toweling as well. He's not sure the barista has moved, which is probably good since Frank doesn't really want to like, criticize how he's doing his job or whatever. Once the table is clean and dry he throws out the towels, and since the guy still seems oblivious, Frank takes the opportunity to pick up the trash from the other tables and get rid of it, too. And put the dishes from the tables in the bus tub. 

Frank gets out his French homework -- it isn't due until next week but it's easier if he does it the same day as conversation, and anyway, he came here to do some studying -- and breaks his muffin in half. It's pretty dry and gluey, but that's not unexpected. It'll be better with his mocha. 

Except when he's done with the muffin, there's still no mocha. Frank had heard the coffee grinder going, and the espresso maker hissing, but the barista is still back behind the counter frowning and stirring things, with his hair tucked behind his ears. It's pretty cute, and Frank's getting nearly unlimited staring time, so he's looking on the bright side.

***

When the barista starts looking like he might be getting ready to bring the drink over, Frank does his best to look like he's been wrapped up in verb tenses the whole time. He's pretty sure he succeeds. 

"Ta-da!" The barista sets the cup down in front of him, and does honest-to-god jazz hands before it looks like he catches himself doing it. To his credit, he only looks a little bit embarrassed, and mostly happy. There's something about the guy's smile that Frank can't put his finger on and is having a hard time looking away from -- like he's expecting something nice to happen. A nice surprise. Frank is smiling back, but he figures that's what anyone would do, and he looks at the cup. 

It's sitting in its own little pool of milky coffee already, and it's piled unreasonably high with whipped cream. Shit. He can feel that his smile has gone off, and that the guy can tell. Fuck. "Whipped cream?"

"That's the best part, yeah, you'll love it, trust me," says the guy, and Frank looks up just in time to see him get it. "Oh my god. **MOTHERFUCKER** ," the guy makes an expression of dismay that would be hilarious if it wasn't so sincere, clapping his hands to the sides of his face and then pushing them both into his hair. "I am **such** a fucking idiot, I'm so sorry," he pulls his hands back out of his hair and starts waving them in some sort of elaborate illustration of his words. "I'll make you a new one!"

Shit, now Frank feels bad. "No, it's okay! I'll just..." he looks around for something, a spoon or a napkin or anything, really. All he's got is the plate from his muffin, but the guy figures out where he's going with it and lunges the three steps to the counter and back to hand Frank a spoon. 

He gets most of it off the top of the coffee and transferred to the plate, where it pools and sort of melts. Okay. The guy is still standing next to the table, alternating wringing his hands with -- Frank guessed it -- gnawing on his fingernails. Jesus. 

Frank picks up the cup and takes a sip. It's. Not bad? Lukewarm, and Frank's pretty sure that's not all due to the whip cream delay, and really fucking sweet, but it's also strong as all fuck. This may be four shots by _someone's_ definition, but he's pretty sure they were all double-strength somehow. Maybe the burned aftertaste has something to do with that. He sips again, and smiles up at the guy. "It's great, you're right. Thanks, man." 

The guy beams at him and looks away with just his eyes and then back and Frank's pretty sure there's some flirty eyelash fluttering going on. Who the fuck does that? Frank's not sure he's ever seen it done in real life, or even on tv outside of Bugs Bunny flirting his way out of a jam. Frank can feel his own cheeks going warm. This guy is weird as hell, and Frank needs to find out more.

***

He doesn't find out more, at least not then. He does sit up all night puking because of the whipped cream that had already melted into his mocha, though.

***

Wednesday is seminar morning again, and Frank's got a few minutes to spare again, so he stops to grab a coffee. 

The guy is the only person working behind the counter again, though there's a teenage girl who looks like she's trying to keep up with clearing tables and restocking shit. They must get an early morning rush, Frank thinks, and starts to wonder what exactly the guy's schedule is like if he's still on duty at the end of the afternoon when they close. Like how tired would he be after work, and does he have to go to bed really early, and stuff like that. 

And now he's thinking about what the guy might look like when he's sleeping. Jesus, Frank, get a grip.

He's just managed to pull himself away from that train of thought as he steps up to the counter and there he is. Smiling like he's fucking delighted to see Frank, and he reaches out and Frank's not really sure what's happening, and he's smiling back at the guy so what the hell, he tries mirroring the reach as well. But then something happens and there's a flicker of a frown on the guy's face, there and gone so fast that Frank almost doesn't catch it, and then the guy is shaking his hand.

"Hi! Good morning!" The guy's hands are warm, and he's got Frank's hand caught between both of his, and he's squeezing, but not like in a business-y way, or in an assert-dominance way, or even a you-can-trust-me way. It's like, reassuring, sort of. Like a hug. Had he been going in for a hug? Frank doesn't even know the guy's name, they've seen each other twice in the course of two days, and had the guy actually been trying to hug him hello and forgotten there was a counter in the way? 

"Hi," Frank says back at him, and brings his left hand into play to give the guy a little handshake-hug in return. It seems like it goes okay. Frank's stomach is doing a weird thing, like it's trying to move up closer to his heart, but in a nice way. He's also pretty sure he's blushing again. 

The teenager walks behind the guy and jabs him in the shoulder with her fingertip, hissing "Line!" as she goes past. 

The guy drops Frank's hands immediately and straightens up, looking chastised.

Frank hates that girl a little bit for just a moment, then he's got to admit to himself that she wasn't a dick about it, and she was definitely justified. 

"Large coffee?" asks the guy, and Frank nods and digs in his pocket, which gets him a hand-flap in the face. "On me! I mean on the house, because I messed up your drink. Okay?"

That. Okay. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, man." Frank checks the guy's nametag again, not that he hasn't looked a million times already. It's still blank aside from a little cartoony vampire head sharpied in the corner. Well, blank aside from what looks like chocolate syrup splatter and a smear that's almost certainly more grease pencil. 

Frank moves down from the register and watches as the guy reaches down a cup and fills it until it overflows again, then as he fits a lid on carefully, turns, and slides it across the counter. He has that look on his face again, that expecting-something-nice smile, and Frank meets his eyes and smiles back at him.

***

The coffee is even worse than it had been on Monday. Frank notices that right away, since even though there's a lid on the cup he had to slurp at it or wear it in order to carry it to class. 

It isn't until he sits down, though, that he sees the little drawings covering the cup. On one side there's a little Frank with his messenger bag over his shoulder, a cup with little steam lines in one hand and a tall stack of books in the other, all balanced precariously like something out of Dr Seuss, snaking back and forth with a little muffin bouncing along at the top. On the other, there's an intricately detailed coil with a handle at one end next to a fedora. Both are under a heavy barred circle and underneath that, in clear capital letters, it says "NO WHIP!" and "NEVER AGAIN!"

And under that, in much looser handwriting, is "XO XO G!"

Frank smiles so hard he is pretty sure his professor thinks there's something wrong.

***

He doesn't go back to Elixer that afternoon, but only because his hold at the library finally comes in, and it's not allowed out of the building, so he's there until midnight taking notes for his thesis. He's got big plans to integrate all of the writing he does for psych over the next four terms into a larger project, but that's not going to happen without the right early research. Besides, every minute of work done late Wednesday night is another minute of non-work over the weekend, and there's not much he likes more than smoking up and playing Mario Kart when all the rest of the guys in the house are cursing him because, unlike Frank, they are shitty planners.

Not that he doesn't love the guys, because he does. Especially when he gets in from the library and there's still pizza, and they even got one with just sauce and veggies. Dewees has even already picked all the mushrooms off it for him.

Frank doesn't have a morning class on Thursday, just astronomy lab and French lecture in the afternoon, but he's started feeling weird about not showing up at the coffee shop the prior afternoon. He hadn't said he'd be there, and it wasn't like he was a regular -- he's only gone in three times -- but he saved the cup from his morning coffee and put it on the windowsill next to his bed and the more he lies there trying to sleep in and staring at it instead, the more he worries that maybe not showing up could be misinterpreted. Like maybe the drawing scared him off or something.

He doesn't really feel like cold pizza for breakfast anyhow, so he gets up to see who else is around and wants to get coffee.

***

In the end, only Tony and Dewees are up for it. Which is good, because now that they're almost there Frank's overthinking it. Maybe he should be alone. Does it look like he doesn't want to be by himself with the guy if he brings people? More than two people could have been a disaster. At least this way if he needs to, Frank can make like he's a third wheel and split off. Fuck, he's glad both of them came along, going in with just one friend might have looked like he was on a date, or trying to send a message, let the barista dude down easy or something.

"Frank, hey," Dewees grabs at his sleeve, and Frank realizes suddenly that he's been talking to Frank for at least the last block. "What's with you, man, you got a fever?" Dewees tries to feel Frank's forehead but Frank ducks out of the way and glares at him.

"Quit it, mom," Frank says, and Dewees backs off a little, raising his hands between them, still walking.

"You're a little pink, sweetie, you know your mama worries."

Frank ignores him, which means Dewees cracks up at his own shitty joke before he says, "I was just asking you where we're headed, dude."

Frank shrugs and says, "Coffee place."

Dewees looks over at Tony, and Tony shrugs. "Good enough for me."

"Yeah," says Dewees, but then he narrows his eyes at Frank. "What's wrong with the coffee place closer to the house? With those sandwiches you like?"

Shit. Frank shrugs at him. "What's wrong with something new?"

"Hey, wait, which sandwiches?" says Tony. "How come I never knew that place has sandwiches?"

Thank fuck for Tony.

***

They aren't the only customers in the place when they get there, since the homeless guys have taken over a couple of tables, one of them organizing the contents of a bag and the other studying the newspaper. The barista -- G -- is the only person working again, though, and he's curled over the counter drawing, humming just loud enough to carry.

The tables are all gross. Frank's starting to suspect that the girl he saw yesterday is the only person who clears and wipes them. Maybe she opens every day. Can teenagers work opening shifts? Maybe she's older than Frank thought.

Frank doesn't realize he's stopped right inside the door until Dewees and Tony shove past him, and he hears Dewees' quiet little "Huh."

Frank needs more friends who don't figure shit out so fast. Like Tony. Or Dewees when he's baked. Why didn't Frank get Dewees baked before they left the house? Hindsight, twenty-twenty every damn time.

Right on cue, though, Tony says, “Why are we at this shitty place?”

Dewees hushes him and whispers, "I'll fill you in later, man, be nice for Frankie."

Tony wasn't loud enough for the barista to register, but the guy with the newspaper raises an eyebrow at the three of them, then whistles. Not like a tune, more like you'd whistle to a dog. The barista jerks up from his drawing though, and glances over toward them then grins at whistling guy. "Thanks, Jimmy."

Dewees and Tony meet the guy at the register, and Frank is pretty sure Dewees is blocking his view of the barista, and the barista's view of him, on purpose. Dickhead.

The barista gets a couple of wrapped sandwiches out of the case and knocks the entire tray of blueberry muffins onto the floor in the process. They go every which way and Frank dies a little inside hearing the guy's little "whoops!' and watching him amiably pick them all up again, while the espresso is sitting neglected on the counter and Tony's hot chocolate gets set down on the floor under the sink, and then -- predictably -- kicked over. G arranges the muffins a little on the tray and Frank watches with something he's pretty sure is a brand new emotion -- fond horror? charmed disgust? -- as he puts them all back into the case.

G goes back to making Dewees' americano, except somehow it turns into a latte, and he frowns for a moment at Tony before his face clears and he makes a new hot chocolate.

Then Tony and Dewees are out of Frank's way, finally. And G's face lights up, Frank's pretty sure he hadn't known he was there. Frank's also pretty sure his own face has lit up.

***

Getting through ordering -- G won't let him pay for his coffee again, but Frank does manage to thank him for the drawing, which makes G blush bright red -- takes a while, but there aren't any bran muffins left, so all Frank gets is a large black coffee.

When he turns away from the counter, Dewees and Tony are sitting at one of the tables. They've conspicuously saved Frank the chair with the best view of the counter, and they are both wearing carefully innocent expressions. Frank resigns himself to his fate and takes a seat.

A moment later, the newspaper guy is up at the counter asking the barista for help with something, and they head around the corner toward the emergency exit. As soon as they are out of sight, the other guy jumps up and rushes over to them, hissing, "Don't eat the sandwiches!"

Dewees is the first to react, though his "what the hell, dude?" is pretty much the same thing Frank would have said.

"We only have a minute, pay attention," says the guy. "He's a nice kid, so Jimmy and I look out for him, but we haven't been able to do anything about the sandwiches, he makes them when he starts work if Molly doesn't do it first, and believe me, you do not want to eat them."

Tony frowns at the guy, and looks at Frank, then Dewees, then picks up his sandwich, still in the wrapper, and sniffs at it. And gags. "Oh Jesus God what is that."

"I told you," hisses the guy. "Plain cheese is probably okay, if you come back. Here," he tosses some crumpled plastic wrap onto the table, "hide them, pretend you're finished."

The guy hustles back to his stuff, but Tony is looking suspiciously at his drink and Dewees is clearly just barely managing to not crack up, so Frank takes the hit and shoves both sandwiches into his coat pockets. His hands do smell a little odd, after.

Dewees pulls himself together at just about the same time that Jimmy leads G back into view. G smiles at them, and at the crumpled plastic wrap between the three of them on the table, and at Frank -- Frank's pretty sure at least one smile is specifically at him -- and goes back behind the counter. There's a quiet splashy noise that Frank's pretty sure is the sound of G walking through the puddle of cold hot chocolate.

Dewees takes a long drink of his latte, and smiles at Frank when he says, "Your boyfriend makes the worst coffee I have every tasted in my life. Since we're spending the afternoon, it's a good thing I brought snacks."

***

Other things Dewees says, over the next few weeks:

"Is your boyfriend using that grease pencil as eyeliner?" (He was, it turned out.)

"Does your boyfriend know what a shower is?" (This one went unanswered, and Frank tried to ignore it, even though it made Dewees first refer to them as star-crossed, and then make increasingly smutty suggestions on how Frank could encourage a regular bathing schedule.)

"Do you think he wears the same clothes every day, or does he have ten identical Metallica t-shirts that he's made the same cigarette burns in as an art project?" (This one actually made Frank wonder for a minute, since it seemed weirdly believable that it could be an art project. Anyway, Frank argued, when G reaches things down from overhead you can see the waistband of his underwear and the color of those is different day-to-day, and that's what's important.)

"Does he know what your name is? Wait, do you know his name?" (No, but -- well, Frank's been coming in for coffee for weeks, he can't ask now, it would be weird. More weird. Eventually that girl Molly is sure to use the guy's name where Frank can overhear it.)

And then, finally: “Frank, are you serious? He’s cute and I know you have a thing, but I can’t handle another lukewarm cup of coffee from that disaster.” 

***

So Frank goes back to going to Elixer on his own. But now he has a plan: He'd stayed on campus for Thanksgiving break, but the end of the semester was coming up fast, and he was going to spend the whole thing watching his mom's cable and eating his mom's cooking (and **not** getting food poisoning. He's had kind of a lot of missed classes due to food poisoning this term, and he's lost weight so he's even colder than usual all the time. Which has been a great excuse to hang out even more at the coffee shop, since it continues to be blissfully warm, even when he knows he can't risk drinking or eating anything there. He just buys coffee and pours it out again in the bathroom, it's fine.) Anyway, end of semester is the perfect excuse to hand G a slip of paper with his mom's phone number -- and Frank's name -- on it. And then when G calls, he'll have to tell Frank's mom _his_ name when he asks for Frank. It's a perfect plan.

***

The last Monday of the last week of term, Frank ducks into the coffee shop like usual. The line moves fast, which is weird, but not in a way that Frank really puts together in his head until he's suddenly next, and a blonde girl smiles at him politely and asks what she can get for him.

Her name tag says AMY.

On autopilot Frank orders a large coffee to go, and she's taken his money and given him a perfectly filled, piping hot cup before he knows it. He carries it to his seminar and it's still steaming and perfect when he sits down and tries it. Perfectly brewed and just the right temperature.

The rest of the day is, well, weird. Frank is incredibly busy, because no matter what else is happening, it's still the last week of the semester, and he's got exams to write and projects to turn in and he has to make a persuasive speech in French, but he heads back to Elixer like usual that afternoon, trusting that whatever weirdness was going on this morning, it will be gone by now.

It's not. The place isn't empty except for G behind the counter, drawing and ignoring the chaos. Amy is there, polishing the espresso machine, and there are a couple of people there with books or laptops, and all the tables are clean.

Frank has a really bad feeling, but he goes up to the counter anyway.

Amy doesn't know much, but she knows that a guy used to work there, and the health inspector came by, and shit hit the fan (Frank hopes not literally, but decides immediately not to think about it too hard), and the guy got fired. It turns out Amy used to work at the coffee shop near the house where Frank lives, the nice one with the good vegan sandwiches, and Elixer's owner had gone there Friday afternoon and offered to double her pay and give her $250 cash in hand if she'd come work for him immediately. She's met Molly, who she's now supposed to mentor, or something.

Even though Frank knows there's no way he's eaten anything iffy in days, his stomach hurts. They had only just started to relax enough to say more than a few words to each other at a time. All those afternoons of Frank doing coursework and G drawing -- and Frank's pretty sure at least a few times G was drawing Frank -- wasted.

He's an idiot. And he's been a coward, clearly, or he'd at least know the guy's name, if nothing else.

***

Frank gets through his exams, and his essays, and his speech, and he's so grateful when his mom shows up and takes him home.

***

"Frank. Frank. Frank." Dewees kicks Frank's mattress, and Frank pulls the covers up higher over his head. 

Dewees sighs, and starts up again. "Frank. Frank, come on man." 

"Go 'way," Frank mumbles. He can hear Dewees moving around, and then the soft thumps as he tosses something onto the bed. 

"Frank." The mattress dips, and Frank tries not to squirm when Dewees leans back and settles his weight right across Frank's guts. "Frank. Frank. Frank. Frank --"

"WHAT. The fuck. Do you want." 

"Hah!" Dewees rolls over onto Frank's ribs and Frank tries to throw a punch from under the covers. It's not much use since he's pretty well pinned at this point. "Frank. Come on, man, get your ass out of bed. We got a party to get to."

Ugh. 

"Ugh, no. I don't feel like partying." Frank twists hard to try to dislodge Dewees, but Dewees just rides it out and uses Frank's distraction to pull the covers down from over his head, and when Frank glares, he smiles, big and toothy.

"Tough luck, Frankie, you're my date!" Dewees flutters his eyelashes for dramatic effect, and Frank heaves a sigh. Fucking Dewees, what the fuck. He should have asked his mom not to let him in.

Shit. No, that would have really worried her. She already thinks he's got mono again.

"No." Frank shuts his eyes again with what he hopes is an air of finality, but Dewees immediately starts trying to poke his fingers up Frank's nose, which makes it hard to maintain either his dignity or the illusion that he's got any hope of falling back to sleep. Dewees never had dignity in the first place, the cheater, and he manages to drag Frank out of his bed and into the hallway before Frank shakes him off. 

Frank escapes into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him while Dewees is laughing at him. Whatever, he's gotta pee anyway. 

There's a soft thump against the door as Dewees leans back against it. "Make yourself pretty, baby," Dewees coos through the gap between the door and the jamb. 

Frank aims a kick at the bottom of the door, but he gets in the shower.

***

"I'm not up for a party. I get it, I understand you want me to cheer up, and I appreciate it. You're a good friend."

Dewees turns another page in one of Frank's _Swamp Thing_ collections and ignores him.

"Just. No party. Look, I got out of bed, I took a shower, I put clothes on. Let's order a pizza and watch some movies."

Dewees turns another page.

"Okay, that's settled," Frank tries. "What do you want on your pizza?"

Dewees holds up an eyeliner pencil as he turns another page. "Make yourself pretty, come on."

Frank is going to die alone eaten by dogs. He heaves a sigh and heads back to the bathroom, since that mirror's got the best light.

He does love dogs, and at least that way his corpse will be useful, he thinks as he lets Dewees bully him into his coat and out to the car. It's kind of a nice sort of immortality, when you really think about it. Like he'll be part of the dogs.

"Frank."

"Yeah?"

"Frank," Dewees repeats. "Tell me you're not thinking about how you're going to die alone and be eaten by dogs. Again."

Frank just looks at him, and when they get to a red light, Dewees looks back and for a minute, he's dead serious. "Come on man, we've all been worried about you. Fake it till you make it, as a Christmas present to me, okay?"

Well, there's not much Frank can say to that, not without being a dick. "Okay. Sorry, man."

"We're cool. Just enjoy the party."

Frank tries a smile. It feels bitter and fake, but it's probably a start. Maybe his face muscles will warm up by the time they get there. "Whose party, anyhow?"

"Well, you know that guy Geoff who Tony knows?" Dewees starts, and Frank makes a little affirmative noise so he'll keep talking. "Well, he was at the diner with all of us night before last. It's his friend Mikey's party, he lives at home but I guess his parents went to Florida for the holiday or something, so, you know: kegs, weed, many friends old and new."

Dewees turns down a residential street and Frank's pretty sure he can tell which house is hosting the party from here. They park a block away so they're less likely to get towed if a neighbor gets pissed off and Dewees starts talking again. "Mikey did want everybody to get fair warning before the party, though, so I gotta tell you what he told me: his older brother is around, he lives in the basement and he probably won't come out, but if he does, just ignore him. Mikey says he's a drama queen and he's been moping over some shit for the past week." Frank nods at that, and thinks, well, at least he's being dragged out to a party instead of having to deal with one happening right overhead. Small mercies.

They turn to walk up the driveway and Dewees continues. "The brother -- Gerard, good name, right? -- some kind of artist, if you'll believe that, and he just lost his job at a coffee shop, Mikey says, and he’s been moping ever since over some guy he didn’t even know."

Frank stops walking so fast he almost falls, but Dewees steadies him, gives him an appraising look, and starts moving again.

"What the fuck," Frank starts, but this is not Dewees messing with him. He's pretty sure. "Are you messing with me?"

They're at the bottom of a little concrete stairs. Frank can see a little light beyond the door -- the basement door -- but it's quiet. The door above them, at ground level, has a steady stream of people, and laughter and conversation. Dewees knocks on the door.

It takes a minute, but finally there's an exasperated "What?" from behind the door. Followed by a louder and even crankier sounding "Fuck off and use the front door!"

Dewees knocks again, then pushes Frank in front of the door, mouthing "good luck!" and heading back up the steps toward the party.

"Who the fuck is it?" Gerard says, as he finally pulls open the door. 

"It's Frank. Hi." Frank smiles, and after a moment, Gerard smiles too. "Can I come in?"

***

Turns out, Gerard's room is a lot grosser than the coffee shop ever managed to get. Luckily, Frank doesn't mind. 


End file.
